by B A Vonsik
The “deal” kept Rogaan awake all through the night. He tried sleeping in his shack, but missing Pax, who remained in the hands of that bizarre tyrant, Kirral, made rest difficult and sleep impossible. Pax or me, Rogaan had to choose. How do I know the small poisoned blade Kirral gave me will do as he claims? Rogaan wanted to trust Kirral but could not find it in himself to give that much to a person who openly admitted he wanted to silence Rogaan’s heart. The plan simple, though filled with unknown dangers . . . Trusting Kirral was key to its success and that the Saggis Rogaan is to fight would not end him with a blade. Trusting Kirral was a problem for him. Believing he held something coated in a Light-taking liquid was also difficult, though Rogaan decided not to test the blade before he faced his opponent in the pit.
While eating the last of his dried fish, Rogaan watched snaking lines of burning torches make their way from the hovels toward the fighting pit closest to him. They periodically kicked up single and small flocks of featherwings as they went. Most in the lines would be watchers of the fight to come, and many would wager coin or goods or services for and against him. Rogaan, in truth, did not know how well he would fare against this Saggis, an assassin by profession and training, not some Lugasum cutthroat with only street experience developed skills. Rogaan felt nervous. Reluctant to enter the pit, he found rising off the rocks difficult despite his inner voice nagging at him to do so. Then, the fear of forfeiting the fight, and the lashings that would be demanded, if he did not stand on the clay at the moment the sun’s rays touched the ground. The thoughts of lashings combined with that nagging inner voice motivated him to stand. An old and almost forgotten sensation . . . a tingle at the top of his neck where his spine met with skull . . . A feeling in his head gave Rogaan pause. What? Where is this coming from? He surveyed the island and waters looking for something he did not know what or if he would recognize it when he found it. He saw nothing out of the expected. With one last scan of the island and waters about him, he dismissed the feeling as his nervousness playing tricks on him. Ending his procrastinating, he set off on the descent into the pit.
As his footfalls navigated the treacherous rocky slope shadowed in the morning gloom, Rogaan caught sight to the north three tall galley ships speeding eastward with sails fluttering and oars rowing. Even with his better-than-average night eyes, Rogaan was unable to determine the colors of the flags flying from their masts. Stopped, he watched the ships for a short time until they disappeared into the mists northeast of the island. That tingling feeling in his head, teasing him, diminished as he returned to descending the hill. Without more excuses to keep him from the pit, Rogaan made his descent to the round, clay-surfaced grounds. The Pit was rimmed and shaped by a stub of a stone wall further surrounded by rising terrain, all around except at its north end where a small strip of dirt gave way to a rocky cliff overlooking the west end of the watery channel between this rock of an island and its brother just north of it.
Halfway to the clay ground, Sugnis, with a dirt-stained face and his disapproving scowl framed by his dark tangle of shoulder-length hair and hand-length beard, stood in his now-resewn green tunic and green breeches waiting for his apprentice. Rogaan walked by Sugnis without speaking a word but did exchange somber glances that told his fighting mentor he understood the seriousness of the morning and approaching sunrise. Sugnis silently followed Rogaan to the stacked-rock rim wall of the sunken clay in the fighting pit, where for only a short time they would be alone.
“What of the offer?” Sugnis asked in a serious tone. “Will you go through on it?”
“How do you know of the deal?” Rogaan asked in surprise having been caught off guard with Sugnis’s seemingly omnipotent powers.
“It’s what I do.” Sugnis sounded more of his usual overconfident self. “You’re avoiding answering?”
“I cannot leave Pax to that tyrant,” Rogaan answered soberly. “He will kill my friend. And, no, I do not trust Kirral. The blade he gave me is still in its clamshell, though I do not see another way for both Pax and me to live through this . . . complexity.”
“Difficult decision.” Sugnis sounded both proud and pragmatic. “Tellens are known to shrug off poisons. Not certain that he gave you is strong enough for taking your Light. I have your back guarded. Now, let’s speak on your opponent one more time to ensure he doesn’t end your Light, first, and change the deal.”
As the cloudy sky brightened with the predawn glow, they exchanged knowledge as experienced master and well-learned apprentice, talking through how the Saggis would fight Rogaan, and how Rogaan was to fight back, as well as defend himself from the venom dagger they expected the killer of men to use against Rogaan. Small crowds started arriving around the Pit taking up spots at the rim informally assigned through past brawls and rituals of intimidation. The strong ruled this island. The weak served or perished, usually both. Soon, they stood surrounded by a rabble of prisoners. Two prominent spots elevated above the crowds, one to the south where Kirral and his followers would perch, and the other to the east was reserved for Urgallis and his band of thugs. Both were occupied with standards waving atop poles in the slight breeze, the red banners of Urgallis and the yellow of Kirral. The sun neared breaking above the far hills to the northeast across the expansive swirling waters of the Ur River. Rogaan and Sugnis watched as the Saggis, accompanied by several of Urgallis’s Ursan, stepped onto the clay.
The lean, muscular, brown-skinned Baraan Saggis stolidly stood in the Pit. Slightly taller than Rogaan, he stood confident and imposing with his clean-shaven face and sandy-colored hair pulled back into a tail. The expertly trained Taker of Lights wore a black and bloodred hide kilt, vest, wrist guards, and soft-soled boots. Rogaan tried finding a blade on his opponent. Nothing, as he touched the small clamshell holding his own coated blade secured in his pants just below the waist. With a nod from Sugnis, Rogaan hopped from the stacked stones to the clay ground. A roar from the rabble erupted more loudly than previous fights Rogaan had survived in this place . . . in fights deciding who served whom or who died and who lived. This morning, the fight would see one of their Lights depart unbreathing flesh. Rogaan swallowed hard. The seriousness of the morning started weighing heavier on him as moments passed. The Saggis, a Baraan sent to kill him by the Keepers of the Way, stood five strides in front of him wearing an unshakable confidence in his stance, face, and eyes. Ancient gods of old, give me the strength and skill to send my opponent’s Light to your heavenly abode, Rogaan prayed. Not often did he do so, but now seemed a fitting moment for it. To Rogaan’s left, the sun was almost clear of the far hills. A drum, deep and booming, sounded a handful of times from the east. The noisy rabble fell silent.
“We gather here upon these clay grounds to honor the Ancients with a blood sacrifice of combat,” Urgallis announced with his deep voice while standing tall atop his rocky rise with a bone dagger raised high and dressed in hide armor adorned with colorful feathers. “The Tellen, Rogaan, and the Baraan, who has no name, are to fight with hands bare till the Light is forever gone from one of their skins. Let the rays of the sun strike the clay to see blood to run freely.”
Rogaan stared at the Saggis while swallowing hard. The Saggis stood returning his stare unmoving like a stone statue without a hint of emotion. Upon Urgallis finishing his introduction, the crowd began the customary Kaal’Ursa chant, preceding the bloodletting.
Fight!
Fight!
Fight for honor.
Battle for redemption.
Slay for reckoning.
Let the Ancients judge, condemn the guilty.
Lights of the wicked suffer in Kur.
Lights of the pure victorious honor.
Fight!
Fight!
Fight!
Let them fear your rage!
Rogaan soaked in the spirit of the chant as the sun warmed his left cheek. Sunrise upon the clay was moments away. His left shoulder and arm warmed. Bright rays struck the top of the stacked-stone wall forward and
off to his right; then it started walking downward. Rogaan’s breath quickened as his heart beat even faster. He felt sweat begin dripping from his forehead as his body tingled with anticipation of battle . . . or was it fear, he did not know which. As clay to his right brightened with the rays of the sun, an explosion of cheers and shouts from the rabble deafened Rogaan, momentarily startling him and drawing his attention beyond the stacked stones.
Soft-soled boots solidly impacted Rogaan’s chest and midsection, launching him backward through the air. His breath knocked from his lungs as he hung suspended above the clay in what seemed both a moment in time and an eternity in realizing his mistake. Rogaan landed hard on his upper back, shoulders, and neck, jolting his jaws and skull before rolling feet over head. Fearing the Saggis would be upon him, Rogaan painfully snapped his head and eyes up in his opponent’s direction as he rolled into an upright squat. He found it impossible to suck in a breath despite his gapping mouth and painfully working midsection. He wanted to inhale the morning air but found it difficult. Charging at him, the brown-skinned Baraan launched himself forward, colliding with Rogaan and driving him back into solid stone. Pain racked Rogaan’s back and neck despite the stacked stones giving a little as they were pressed back into the dirt behind them. Flashing specks of light started filling Rogaan’s vision as the edges of his sight grayed. His head felt light, and his body floating, almost unresponsive to the commands he screamed out from his mind to fight back.
“Ya can never be allowed ta fulfill da prophecies,” the deep voice of the Saggis spoke into Rogaan’s left ear. “Time ta end ya Light.”
Alarmed at the promise of death, a surge of strength exploded through Rogaan. With the stones cutting into his back, he pushed the brown-skinned Baraan up and away with arms and legs. Sending him airborne into the low rock wall of the arena. Free of the Saggis’s weight on him, Rogaan rolled to his hands and knees as he tried to suck in a breath. More sparkling flashes of light as the gray edges of his sight expanded. Rogaan tried to scream, but nothing came out of his burning lungs. Agonizing desperation filled him as he both worked at drawing a breath and somehow scream at the same time. The feel of the trembling clay beneath his hands and knees disappeared, replaced by a sensation of floating in the warmth of the sun as he started feeling light-headed.
Suddenly, a breath of air painfully rushed into his lungs as his midsection released its straining muscles. Disappearing from his vision were the gray tint of the world and the flashing of lights. Looking up as he sucked in another breath, anger and determination filled his being, pouring over and silencing the fear, doubt, indecisiveness, and embarrassment he felt moments before. With his sight almost clear, Rogaan found the Taker of Lights unsteadily regaining his feet from a sitting position against the stacked stones across the clay arena.
Rogaan staggered to his feet before taking determined, confident steps toward the Saggis, intending to beat him into the clay. On the other side of the arena, the Saggis stood shaking his head and arms before also closing on Rogaan with the same determined strides, but with eyes wild and burning in a fanatical rage. They met almost at the center of the clay with the Saggis striking a punch to Rogaan’s cheek first. The punch felt light to Rogaan, underpowered, as he threw his own right sweeping punch striking the Saggis on the jaw, staggering him. Quickly recovering, the Saggis swung back, only to find his punch blocked by the half Tellen. Rogaan and the Saggis quickly descended into their own personal world, punching, blocking, and counterpunching each other in a fury of action. Nothing else existed, each consumed with their intent to drop the other. Rogaan landed a left uppercut sending the Saggis staggering back with a bloody mouth and nose. A surprised look engulfed the Taker of Lights face, immediately replaced with the return of that fanatical searing gaze and determined jaws. A small bone blade appeared in his right hand as he charged Rogaan. Focused on the blade and the deadly poison that had to be on it, Rogaan grabbed the right wrist of the Baraan with both of his hands as he rotated away from the blade strike, exposing his back to his opponent. The Saggis impacted Rogaan midback, sending him off balance, then driving him forward toward the north end of the clay. The two spilled over the stacked-stone wall, rolling onto the dirt vacated by the yelling crowd standing there a moment earlier.
Rogaan kept an iron grip on the Baraan’s blade hand as the Saggis repeatedly punched and struck him in the right-side ribs and face. Rogaan rolled to escape the unanswered pummeling by trapping the Saggis’s right arm underneath him. Unexpectedly, he felt as if floating, then falling a distance embraced in battle with his adversary. A jolt of pain seared through Rogaan’s left side, forcing some of the air from his lungs as he realized they landed hard on a surface before rebounding into the air, then falling again. Moments later, they impacted a giving surface of moist sand, sinking into the ground before coming to a motionless position with Rogaan under the Saggis. Still, Rogaan held the blade-wielding hand of the wild-eyed Baraan, but only with his own left hand. The Saggis pushed himself up while remaining on top of Rogaan, then pulled his blade hand free of Rogaan’s grip. Blood covered the Saggis’s face and soaked his hair as more dripped onto Rogaan with every move. The Baraan’s eyes smoldered a wildness with unshakable intent that the victory he sought was only a moment away.
Bone blade raised high, the Saggis drove his right hand down with all his might at Rogaan’s chest. Rogaan crossed his arms defensively at the wrist, blocking the blade’s descent in the wedge formed by his arms. He awkwardly gripped the blade hand with both of his hands and reversed about the Saggis’s wrist. The Saggis tried to pull his blade hand away but found Rogaan’s grip too strong. Then, with a flick of his wrist and hand, the Taker of Lights tossed the dripping bone blade into the air before catching the poison blade with his left hand. The blade now raised high above the Saggis, Rogaan knew he was defenseless to the killing strike he was to receive.
The morning sun went dark, blocked by a large mass of teeth towering over them, curved fangs gleaming. The beast struck with a crunching bite on the Saggis’s left arm and shoulder. The Baraan screamed out in pain and frustration, his eyes still fiery hot with intent to take Rogaan’s Light as the massive beast twitched its body, ripping the Saggis from atop him while showering Rogaan with water, blood, and sand.
Near-panic propelled Rogaan off the sand and into a crouch facing the cliff, looking up a shear wall of wet rocks and slick moss. Spinning around to face the beach, he found a scene of horror. The beach, only four to five strides wide, ended abruptly thirty strides to his left and a hundred of strides to his right where it ended just before a wood pier where ships docked to offload cargo and prisoners. The thin, sandy beach, at low tide, as it was now, brought air-breathing water-beasts to use it as a resting place away from the dangers of the deep Ur River. Filling the thin stretch of sands in both directions lay snapjaws and water-dragons of all sizes and in great abundance. The water-dragon near him, a twelve-stride long, black-and-white-colored beast with a head as long as an Evendiir is tall, looked more fish than land dweller, with flipper-like forearms and hind legs and with a tail made to propel its massive body through water. It bit down on the Saggis while lying half-buoyed in the shallows in front of Rogaan. The beast was readying itself to gulp down its screaming and punching prize before other water-dragons or snapjaws could steal its meal away. As it fed, the dark-hued water-dragon drew attention away of the surf-dwelling animals from Rogaan except for another ten-stride water-dragon close on Rogaan’s left and an eleven-stride snapjaw nine strides to his right. A green-gray beast with thick armored hide. Its four short legs kept the animal low to the sand and surf dragging its long, armored tail topped with twin rows of vertically pointing plates, and a robust bony, triangular head filled with conical spikes for teeth. Both momentarily eyed him as if not real before closing on him, the snapjaw quicker on its short legs than the water-dragon on its flipper like legs.
Without pondering his fate, Rogaan broke into a run to his left, hoping the water-dr
agon would be too awkward out of the water to catch him in its jaws. He took several steps directly at the air-breathing water monster before breaking hard to his left, jumping up on rising rocks as the water-dragon lunged, snapping closed, with a loud whop, its curved, spike-toothed jaws just under Rogaan’s drawn up feet. At the peak of Rogaan’s jump, his sandals touched down on wet rocks, but the surface was too slick for his flat-bottomed sandals. His feet slipping out from underneath him, upending and landing him hard and painful on his back across several boulders. Fearful of the tooth-filled dangers near, Rogaan opened his eyes with head upside down, expecting to see the water-dragon’s black-and-white maw close on his head. Instead, the massive water-dragon and the snapjaw hissed and threatened each other in displays of aggression. Neither gave Rogaan another thought. A blessing from the Ancients and my ancestors, Rogaan recited to himself, giving thanks, before trying to sit up and remove himself from the giants’ battlefield. Pain racked him head to feet as nausea gripped him. He lay flat on his back for a moment to recover before trying again. Slowly, he managed to roll to his knees, then crawl to the rocky cliff where he began his dangerous eighteen-stride high climb.
